Marlene Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
by LeeRowan
Summary: Puberty, famous wizards, and the Chamber of Secrets-Marly is not amused. girl!Harry, with a realistic take on the characters. Eventually somewhat!mentor!Snape. Looking for better cover art! (Written by a Canadian so don't expect American or British spelling/grammar) Updates every two days. Rated T for some violence.
1. Table of Contents

Marlene Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

_Puberty, famous wizards, and the Chamber of Secrets-Marly is not amused. girl!Harry, with a realistic take on the characters. Eventually somewhat!mentor!Snape. Looking for better cover art! (Written by a Canadian so don't expect American or British spelling/grammar)_

(Harry Potter (c) JKRowling, Marlene Potter written by lee rowan)

1. The Best Birthday (_completed, posted 15/5/2013_)

2. The Grangers (_completed, posted_ _17/5/2013_)

3. Dobby's Warning (_completed, posted unbetad 19/5/2013, betad version tbp 21/5/2013_)

4. At Flourish and Blotts (_completed, tbp 21/5/2013_)

5. The Whomping Willow (_in-progress, title may change, tbp 23/5/2013_)

6. Gilderoy Lockhart (_in-progress, title may change, tbp 25/5/2013_)

7. Mudbloods and Murmurs (_in-progress, title may change, tbp 27/5/2013_)

8. The Deathday Party (_in-progress, title may change, tbp 29/5/2013_)

9. The Writing on the Wall (_in-progress, title may change, tbp 31/5/2013_)

10. The Rogue Bludger (_in-progress, title may change, tbp 2/6/2013_)

11. The Duelling Club (_in-progress, title may change, tbp 4/6/2013_)

12. The Polyjuice Potion (_in-progress, title may change, tbp 6/6/2013_)

13. The Very Secret Diary (_in-progress, title may change, tbp 8/6/2013_)

14. Cornelius Fudge (_in-progress, title may change, tbp 10/6/2013_)

15. Aragog (_in-progress, title may change, tbp 12/6/2013_)

16. Chamber of Secrets (_in-progress, title may change, tbp 14/6/2013_)

17. The Heir of Slytherin (_in-progress, title may change, tbp 16/6/2013_)

18. Dobby's Reward (_in-progress, title may change, tbp 18/6/2013_)

_Book Three will be posted starting probably in the beginning of July, after my birthday, July 3. Check back about then or just put me on author alert! :)_

_Thanks to Attack-of-the-Blue-Penguins for beta-ing!_


	2. The Best Birthday

**The Best Birthday**

Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast at number four, Privet Drive. Mr. Vernon Dursley had been woken in the early hours of the morning by a loud, hooting noise from his niece Marlene's room.

"Third time this week!" he roared across the table. "If you can't control that owl, it'll have to go!"

Marly tried, yet again, to explain.

"She's bored," she said. "She's used to flying around outside. If I could just let her out at night—"

"Do I look stupid?" snarled Uncle Vernon, a bit of fried egg dangling from his bushy moustache. "I know what'll happen if that owl's let out."

He exchanged dark looks with his wife, Petunia.

Marly tried to argue back but his words were drowned by a long, loud belch from the Dursleys' son, Dudley.

"I want more bacon."

"There's more in the frying pan, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia, turning misty eyes on her massive son. "We must build you up while we've got the chance…I don't like the sound of that school food…"

"Nonsense, Petunia, I never went hungry when I was at Smeltings," said Uncle Vernon heartily. "Dudley gets enough, don't you, son?"

Dudley, who was so large his bottom drooped over either side of the kitchen chair, grinned and turned to Marly.

"Pass the frying pan."

"You've forgotten the magic word," said Marly irritably.

The effect of this simple sentence on the rest of the family was incredible: Dudley gasped and fell off his chair with a crash that shook the whole kitchen; Mrs. Dursley gave a small scream and clapped her hands to her mouth; Mr. Dursley jumped to his feet, veins throbbing in his temples.

"I meant 'please'!" said Marly quickly. "I didn't mean—"

"WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU," thundered her uncle, spraying spit all over the table, "ABOUT SAYING THE 'M' WORD IN OUR HOUSE?"

"But I—"

"HOW DARE YOU THREATEN DUDLEY!" roared Uncle Vernon, pounding the table with his fist.

"I WARNED YOU! I WILL NOT TOLERATE MENTION OF YOUR ABNORMALITY UNDER THIS ROOF!"

Marly stared from her purple-faced uncle to her pale aunt, who was trying to heave Dudley to his feet.

"All right," said Marly, "all right…"

Uncle Vernon sat back down, breathing like a winded rhinoceros and watching Marly closely out of the corners of his small, sharp eyes.

Ever since Marly had come home for the summer holidays, Uncle Vernon had been treating her like a bomb that might go off at any moment, because Marlene Potter wasn't a normal girl. As a matter of fact, she was as not normal as it is possible to be.

Marlene Potter was a witch—a witch fresh from her first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And if the Dursleys were unhappy to have her back for the holidays, it was nothing to how Marly felt.

She missed Hogwarts so much it was like having a constant stomachache. She missed the castle, with its secret passageways and ghosts, her classes (though definitely not Quirrell, the former Defense teacher), the mail arriving by owl, eating banquets in the Great Hall, sleeping in her four-poster bed in the tower dormitory, visiting the gamekeeper, Hagrid, in his cabin next to the Forbidden Forest in the grounds, and, especially, Quidditch, the most popular sport in the wizarding world (six tall goal posts, four flying balls, and fourteen players on broomsticks).

Luckily, before she'd come back for the summer, she had dropped all her things off in Gringotts, the wizarding bank. She had only brought her wand and a few books back with her, knowing that if she brought more, Uncle Vernon would have been apoplectic at all the magical things. As it was, the things she _had _brought home had been locked in a cupboard under the stairs by Uncle Vernon the instant Marly arrived. What did the Dursleys care if Marly lost her place on the House Quidditch team because she hadn't practiced all summer? (She doubted that privately—she was the youngest Seeker in a century, and Oliver Wood, the team captain, loved her). What was it to the Dursleys if Marly went back to school without any of her homework done? The Dursleys were what witches and wizards called Muggles (not a drop of magical blood in their veins), and as far as they were concerned, having a witch in the family was a matter of deepest shame. Uncle Vernon had even padlocked Marly's owl, Hedwig, inside her cage, to stop her from carrying messages to anyone in the magical world.

Marly looked nothing like the rest of the family. Uncle Vernon was large and neckless, with an enormous black mustache; Aunt Petunia was horse-faced and bony; Dudley was blond, pink, and porky. Marly, on the other hand, was small and skinny, with brilliant green eyes and untidy black-and-red hair. Before her trip to Diagon Alley's oculists, she had worn round glasses, but now she wore contacts, and on her forehead was a thin, lightning-shaped scar.

It was this scar that made Marly so particularly unusual, even for a wizard. This scar was the only hint of Marly's very mysterious past, of the reason she had been left on the Dursleys' doorstep eleven years before.

At the age of one year old, Marly had somehow survived a curse from the greatest Dark sorcerer of all time, Lord Voldemort, whose name most witches and wizards still feared to speak. Marly's parents had died in Voldemort's attack, but Marly had escaped with her lightning scar, and somehow — nobody understood why — Voldemort's powers had been destroyed the instant he had failed to kill Marly.

So Marly had been brought up by her dead mother's sister and her husband. She had spent ten years with the Dursleys, never understanding why she kept making odd things happen without meaning to, believing the Dursleys' story that she had got her scar in the car crash that had killed her parents.

And then, exactly a year ago, Hogwarts had written to Marly, and the whole story had come out. Marly had taken up her place at magic school, where she and her scar were famous … but now the school year was over, and she was back with the Dursleys for the summer, back to being treated like a dog that had rolled in something smelly.

The Dursleys hadn't even remembered that today happened to be Marly's twelfth birthday. Of course, her hopes hadn't been high; they'd never given her a real present, let alone a cake — but to ignore it completely …

At that moment, Uncle Vernon cleared his throat importantly and said, "Now, as we all know, today is a very important day."

Marly looked up, hardly daring to believe it.

"This could well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career," said Uncle Vernon.

Marly went back to his toast. Of course, she thought bitterly, Uncle Vernon was talking about the stupid dinner party. He'd been talking of nothing else for two weeks. Some rich builder and his wife were coming to dinner and Uncle Vernon was hoping to get a huge order from him (Uncle Vernon's company made drills).

"I think we should run through the schedule one more time," said Uncle Vernon. "We should all be in position at eight o'clock. Petunia, you will be — ?"

"In the lounge," said Aunt Petunia promptly, "waiting to welcome them graciously to our home."

"Good, good. And Dudley?"

"I'll be waiting to open the door." Dudley put on a foul, simpering smile. "May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?"

"They'll love him!" cried Aunt Petunia rapturously.

"Excellent, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon. Then he rounded on Marly. "And you?"

"I'll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I'm not there," said Marly tonelessly.

"Exactly," said Uncle Vernon nastily. "I will lead them into the lounge, introduce you, Petunia, and pour them drinks. At eight-fifteen —"

"I'll announce dinner," said Aunt Petunia.

"And, Dudley, you'll say —"

"May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs. Mason?" said Dudley, offering his fat arm to an invisible woman.

"My perfect little gentleman!" sniffed Aunt Petunia.

"And you?" said Uncle Vernon viciously to Marly.

"I'll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I'm not there," said Marly dully.

"Precisely. Now, we should aim to get in a few good compliments at dinner. Petunia, any ideas?"

"Vernon tells me you're a wonderful golfer, Mr. Mason. … Do tell me where you bought your dress, Mrs. Mason. …"

"Perfect … Dudley?"

"How about — 'We had to write an essay about our hero at school, Mr. Mason, and I wrote about you.' "

This was too much for both Aunt Petunia and Marly. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and hugged her son, while Marly ducked under the table so they wouldn't see her laughing. She _really_ hoped the Masons didn't accept that one—after all, Dudley's school had been out for more than two months, and they hadn't known about the Masons back when he was in school.

"And you, girl?"

Marly fought to keep her face straight as she emerged.

"I'll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I'm not there," she said.

"Too right, you will," said Uncle Vernon forcefully. "The Masons don't know anything about you and it's going to stay that way. When dinner's over, you take Mrs. Mason back to the lounge for coffee, Petunia, and I'll bring the subject around to drills. With any luck, I'll have the deal signed and sealed before the news at ten. We'll be shopping for a vacation home in Majorca this time tomorrow."

Marly couldn't feel too excited about this. She didn't think the Dursleys would like him any better in Majorca than they did on Privet Drive. They probably wouldn't even take her, they'd probably just leave her with Mrs. Figg, the elderly woman who had a lot of cats.

"Right — I'm off into town to pick up the dinner jackets for Dudley and me. And you," he snarled at Marly. "You stay out of your aunt's way while she's cleaning."

Marly left through the back door. It was a brilliant, sunny day. She crossed the lawn, slumped down on the garden bench, and sang under her breath:

"Happy birthday to me … happy birthday to me …"

No cards, no presents, and she would be spending the evening pretending not to exist. She gazed miserably into the hedge. She had never felt so lonely. More than anything else at Hogwarts, more even than playing Quidditch, Marly missed her best friends: Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley, and Draco Malfoy. They, however, didn't seem to be missing her at all. Neither of them had written to her all summer, even though they had all discussed going to Longbottom Manor to stay, and Hermione had invited her over to her own house (not the boys, because her parents didn't approve of boys).

Countless times, Marly had been on the point of unlocking Hedwig's cage by magic and sending her to Ron and Hermione with a letter, but it wasn't worth the risk. Underage witches weren't allowed to use magic outside of school. Marly hadn't told the Dursleys this; she knew it was only their terror that she might turn them all into dung beetles that stopped them from locking her in the cupboard under the stairs with her wand and broomstick. For the first couple of weeks back, Marly had enjoyed muttering nonsense words under her breath and watching Dudley tearing out of the room as fast as his fat legs would carry him. But the long silence from her friends had made Marly feel so cut off from the magical world that even taunting Dudley had lost its appeal — and now her friends had forgotten her birthday.

What wouldn't she give now for a message from Hogwarts? From any witch or wizard? She'd almost be glad of a sight of her enemies, Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson, just to be sure it hadn't all been a dream. …

Not that her whole year at Hogwarts had been fun. At the very end of last term, Marly had come face-to-face with none other than Lord Voldemort himself. Voldemort might be a ruin of his former self, but he was still terrifying, still cunning, still determined to regain power. Marly had slipped through Voldemort's clutches for a second time, but it had been a narrow escape, and even now, weeks later, Marly kept waking in the night, drenched in cold sweat, wondering where Voldemort was now, remembering his livid face, his wide, mad eyes —

Marly suddenly sat bolt upright on the garden bench. She had been staring absent-mindedly into the hedge — and the hedge was staring back. Two enormous green eyes had appeared among the leaves.

Marly jumped to her feet just as a jeering voice floated across the lawn.

"I know what day it is," sang Dudley, waddling toward him.

The huge eyes blinked and vanished.

"What?" said Marly, not taking her eyes off the spot where they had been.

"I know what day it is," Dudley repeated, coming right up to her.

"Well done," said Marly. "So you've finally learned the days of the week."

"Today's your birthday," sneered Dudley. "How come you haven't got any cards? Haven't you even got friends at that freak place?"

"Better not let your mum hear you talking about my school," said Marly coolly.

Dudley hitched up his trousers, which were slipping down his fat bottom.

"Why're you staring at the hedge?" he said suspiciously.

"I'm trying to decide what would be the best spell to set it on fire," said Marly.

Dudley stumbled backward at once, a look of panic on his fat face.

"You c-can't — Dad told you you're not to do m-magic — he said he'll chuck you out of the house — and you haven't got anywhere else to go — you haven't got any friends to take you —"

"Jiggery pokery!" said Marly in a fierce voice. "Hocus pocus — squiggly wiggly —"

"MUUUUUUM!" howled Dudley, tripping over his feet as he dashed back toward the house. "MUUUUM! He's doing you know what!"

Marly paid dearly for her moment of fun. As neither Dudley nor the hedge was in any way hurt, Aunt Petunia knew she hadn't really done magic, but she still had to duck as her aunt aimed a heavy blow at her head with the soapy frying pan. Then she gave her work to do, with the promise she wouldn't eat again until she'd finished.

While Dudley lolled around watching and eating ice cream, Marly cleaned the windows, washed the car, mowed the lawn, trimmed the flowerbeds, pruned and watered the roses, and repainted the garden bench. The sun blazed overhead, burning the back of her neck. Marly knew she shouldn't have risen to Dudley's bait, but Dudley had said the very thing Marly had been thinking herself … maybe she didn't have any friends at Hogwarts. …

Wish they could see famous Marlene Potter now, he thought savagely as he spread manure on the flower beds, his back aching, sweat running down his face.

At half past two in the afternoon, a sleek, expensive-looking car pulled up to the house. Marly straightened up and wondered who it was; it couldn't be the Masons, they weren't supposed to arrive for hours yet.

"MARLY!"

Her jaw dropped. The back door of the car had flung open, and Hermione got out, running towards her. Her parents, both dentists, got out of the front seats with more dignity. Hermione ran across the garden and flung her arms around Marly, speaking almost too quickly for Marly to understand. She looked tanned; perhaps she'd gone to France on vacation with her parents, as she'd been saying she might.

"I sent you loads of letters—I even sent a few through the Muggle post—why haven't you replied to any of them? I thought something might be wrong—so I got my parents to drive up here—it's your birthday, I wanted to surprise you—"

"Slow down, Hermione," said Marly, laughing as she returned the hug briefly. Hermione stepped back and smiled brightly at her.

"Happy birthday, Marly!"

"Thank you," said Marly. "What are you doing here?"

"You didn't reply to any of my letters," said Hermione, "so I thought I'd surprise you for your birthday…in case your relatives were stopping your mail."

"I didn't get any letters," said Marly, "but I don't think they were stopping my mail, they would have said something if any letters came for me. But you didn't really answer my question…"

"Oh, yes," said Hermione. "If you still want to, I came to get you so you could stay over at my house! At least until we go to Neville's. He told me he didn't get any letters from you either."

"Yeah," muttered Marly. "My uncle's locked up Hedwig, I can't even let her out to fly at night. Of course I want to come! Are you sure your parents are okay with it, though?" She didn't want to be a burden, which Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia made abundantly clear she was.

"They don't mind! They think it's great I've got friends," she told Marly seriously. "I never had any in primary school, you see. I got teased a lot."

Marly knew how that felt: she got teased a lot by Dudley and his gang in primary school, and because they picked on her, nobody wanted to be her friend, either.

"Let me just get my things," she said. "Oh—can we stop by Diagon Alley, I left most of my books and things in my vault at Gringotts."

"We have to drive through London to get to my house," said Hermione, "I'm sure they won't mind stopping there. I haven't gotten my booklist for next year yet, though."

"Neither have I."

Marly wiped her hands on her already-dirty jeans and went inside the house, where Aunt Petunia was still hard at work on dinner in the kitchen.

"You! What are you doing inside! And who are those people, are they freaks like you?" she demanded. "Walk on the newspaper—I just washed that floor!"

Marly moved gladly into the shade of the gleaming kitchen. On top of the fridge stood tonight's pudding: a huge mound of whipped cream and sugared violets. Aunt Petunia was dressing a loin of pork, presumably to roast in the oven.

"Yes, Hermione's a witch like me," she said defiantly. "Her parents are Muggles like you, they're dentists. They've come to pick me up for the rest of the summer. You won't have to deal with me anymore. I just need to get my things and then I'll be gone and won't bother you until next summer."

Aunt Petunia thought this over. "Vernon!"

"Yes, Pet?" Uncle Vernon lumbered over from the sitting room, where he had been watching the news on the television.

"If you want me out of your hair tonight, then give me my things and let me leave," Marly said quickly. "My friend Hermione's here…with her parents, who are dentists."

Dentistry, in Vernon Dursley's opinion, was a respectable occupation. He looked marginally relieved that there weren't a bunch of wizards on his doorstep, then squinted suspiciously at her. "You'll leave, and not come back, will you? Why would they take you?" His tone was belligerent as ever.

"Hermione's one of my best friends," Marly said. "She's the top of the class at H—my school." She caught herself just in time.

"Fine," Uncle Vernon grumbled. "Bring that bird down here, girl."

Marly bolted upstairs and took less than a minute to shove all her clothes and books into her expanded bookbag and grab Hedwig's cage. When she came downstairs, the Grangers had come inside (Aunt Petunia was offering them some tea, which they declined) and Uncle Vernon had her other things out from the cupboard under the stairs.

"Thank you for coming to get me, Dr. and Dr. Granger," said Marly. She put Hedwig's cage down on the counter so Uncle Vernon could open the padlock, and put the rest of the things he'd taken away in her bookbag.

"It's no problem," said Dr. Granger, Hermione's mother, looking on, fascinated, as Marly's bookbag swallowed three textbooks at once. "Hermione wanted to take you to dinner for your birthday."

Uncle Petunia glared at Marly out of the corner of his eye, but forced a smile on his face for the Grangers. "Well, I'm glad she has such a good friend!" he said heartily. Marly wondered if she would be allowed outside next summer at all, or if he'd lock her in her room—_nah, not even Uncle Vernon would be that bad_.

"Well, we'd best be going if we want to miss the worst of the traffic," said Dr. Granger, Hermione's father, glancing at a gleaming silver wristwatch. "Come on, Hermione—Marly—let's get your things to the car, eh?" He looked around for her luggage.

"Er," said Marly, "it's all in here…and Hedwig's cage, of course."

"Right," said Hermione's father, "let's go, then."


	3. The Grangers

**The Grangers**

Dr. and Dr. Granger didn't say much before they got in the car. Marly wanted to let Hedwig out so she could fly behind them, but thought better of it—the Dursleys were still watching through the living-room window, she was sure, and if they saw her do anything even remotely magical, they'd do worse to her next summer.

Once they got in the car, however, Hedwig's cage sitting in the back between Marly and Hermione, Dr. Granger—Hermione's mother—turned around in the passenger seat and smiled at Marly. "Hermione's told us all about you," she said, "and we're very glad to meet you."

Marly shook her hand awkwardly through the middle of the front. "Pleased to meet you, too, Dr. Granger…and Dr. Granger."

"Please, just call me Jean," said Hermione's mother. "It'll be easier. And that's Robert, but you can call him Bob."

Bob Granger smiled at her through the rear-view mirror. Marly wondered how he saw both her and the cars behind them in that mirror, it looked pretty small. "Yes, Bob's fine."

Marly couldn't believe it—she was free. As the car started down the road, she rolled down the window, the hot summer air whipping her air, and looked back at the shrinking doorstep of Privet Drive. She could barely make out her relatives' faces staring, dumbstruck, out of the front window.

"Hermione said you wanted to go to Diagon Alley, is that true?" asked Jean Granger.

"Yes," said Marly. "I've left my things there…so the Dursleys couldn't take it away. They hate magic," she added, with a tone that left no doubt as to what she meant.

"I see," said Jean quietly. She and Bob traded looks. "Hermione, what all did you have planned for Marly's stay, again?"

The adults talked quietly together while Hermione barraged Marly with dozens of exuberant plans—"I'll show you around the house, first, and let you pick a room, we have two extras, unless you want to sleep in my room with me, that's fine too, and then tomorrow we can go see the library and the museum, and—"

Marly nodded. "Sounds great!" She was only half-listening, trying to hear the murmured conversation of Hermione's parents.

"—it's criminal, locking up that bird—"

"—and then on Thursday it's half-off at the pool, so we can go swimming, do you have a suit?"

Marly thought about it. "No, I don't think so."

"Well, maybe one of my old ones will fit you. Anyways, at the pool, they have this excellent waterslide…"

"Hermione Granger, going _swimming_ instead of reading books! Draco and Neville would be astonished," laughed Marly. "You're _always_ in the library at Hogwarts!"

"Yes, well, I _do_ know how to have fun, you know," said Hermione. "I've never had a friend to go to the pool with before."

"Neither have I," said Marly, with an encouraging sort of smile. "Er—I've never swum before, though, so that might be a problem."

"You can't swim! Well, we'll sort that out, all right?"

"She can't even _swim_, Robert," Marly heard Jean say in a slightly louder voice. "We've got to do something!"

"Don't go—"

"If you don't want to go to the pool to swim, we can at least go tanning, all the girls are doing it," suggested Hermione. She already sported a slight tan, presumably from her time in France earlier that summer, and her hair looked tamer than usual.

"Tanning?" Marly asked, clueless. "Why?"

"Getting some sun is good for you," said Hermione, "and besides, you could use a little colour."

Marly was much paler than Hermione because she hadn't been outside the Dursleys' house very often. "That's because we live in England. It rains a lot here, you know." Changing the subject, she asked, "How was your trip to France?"

Hermione began talking excitedly about all the things she'd done on her trip to France—they had taken a ferry from Dover to Calais, then a train from Calais to Paris, where they'd seen a lot of marvellous things, including the French equivalent to Diagon Alley. Apparently, there was even a hidden magical section in the Louvre, detailing the history of wizarding France. There was even a full-scale portrait of Dumbledore winning the duel with Grindelwald. After Paris, they'd gone to Lyon, and then to Cannes on the coast, where they stayed with her father's cousin Adrienne and had a lot of fun on the beach.

By the time Hermione finished telling her about France, they had gotten to London. Unfortunately they weren't able to find parking close to Diagon Alley; they parked in a garage five blocks away for a fiver and walked the rest of the way. In Diagon Alley they didn't tarry; Marly got her things from her vault, as well as plenty of money to pay back the Grangers, and then they left. Hermione looked as though she wanted to stop at the bookstore, which was advertising the upcoming release of a new book by a famous wizard author, but her parents ushered her on.

"Have you ever had Italian, Marly?" asked Jean.

"No, I've never gone out to a restaurant for dinner before," said Marly, and Hermione's parents exchanged another look.

"You'll like it," said Hermione, "we're going to a place called the Spaghetti House, it's excellent."

They made their way back through the Leaky Cauldron, where Marly hid as best she could behind the Grangers, trying to look inconspicuous; she didn't want to have all the patrons come up and start shaking her hand again.

"There's usually a wait to get a table," said Jean. "Bob—do you mind leaving Marly's things in the boot? We'll go get in the queue."

"Of course, dear," said Bob. He was already carrying Marly's trunk, as he had insisted on taking it from her—it was the _gentlemanly_ thing to do. Marly suspected he just wanted to feel useful.

"Do you mind letting Hedwig out?" said Marly. "I don't want her left in the car while we eat…I feel bad enough she'd been in there _this_ long."

Bob nodded. "I will. Go on then, I want our table ready when I arrive!" he ordered in a mock-pompous voice, and the other three burst into laughter.

"Of course, sir, _as you wish_," said Jean, sweeping a low curtsy, flouncing her imaginary skirts. For some reason, that made Bob laugh as well.

They walked down Tottenham Court Road, turned left on Goodge Street, and Marly found herself in front of an elegant corner restaurant with three floors and red awnings. She'd never seen such an impressive-looking restaurant—not that she'd seen very many.

_Spaghetti House—cucina italiana—pizzeria_, she read on the front of the building, and realized with amazement that she might actually be able to have pizza! Dudley had eaten it sometimes, and always with great joy at stuffing his face in front of her.

"Looks really cool," she said to Hermione.

"Oh, it has excellent food, and did you know this was the first Spaghetti House built, way back in 1955?" Hermione started telling her about the history of the restaurant as they entered, and Marly did her best to listen.

There wasn't much of a wait before Hermione's dad showed up, and then it wasn't more than five minutes before they were shown up two flights of stairs to the second floor and their waiting table. From here, they could see out into London proper, although Marly couldn't make out Diagon Alley.

After eating her Quattro Formagi pizza—four-cheese, which she shared with Hermione, and gladly accepted the offer from the waitress to pack the leftovers to take away with her—and enjoying her ice-cold glass of Irn Bru, she was feeling more than a bit tired, and managed to fall asleep on the way out of London. She woke up just under an hour later when she felt the car turn in several dizzying circles, only to have it go one more—they'd just gone through a roundabout. She didn't recognize the area at all.

"Where are we?"

"We're almost home," said Hermione. "We entered Chelmsford about ten minutes ago. In Essex," she added, though she didn't need to; Marly had been taught basic English geography in primary school, same as any other British child.

Robert Granger made a right turn, and the street sign caught her eye—_Rothesay Ave. _They pulled up on the street in front of the third house on the left. It was a very nice house—nicer than the Dursleys' house—although it did look older and more worn. The ground story was dark red brick, but the first story was painted white, with blue accents around the windows. There were two chimneys, one on either side of the house, and the roof looked like it had seen better days. The front garden wasn't large, leaving room only for a cobblestone path to the dark brown front door, but it was neatly kept. In the attic window there was a flowerbox with some white flowers.

"It's not much," said Hermione.

"It's _wonderful_," said Marly happily, thinking of Privet Drive.

They got out of the car.

"Go on, show her around, Hermione," urged Bob Granger. "Pick one of the guest rooms—we have several."

"Right," said Hermione. "Come on, Marly."

Marly hesitated, glancing at her things, which Bob was picking up. Hedwig swooped in on her shoulder and nibbled affectionately at her ear.

"Oh, hello, Hedwig," she said with surprise. "I didn't expect you to find me so quickly. But of course you would, you're the smartest owl ever," she hastened to add, when the snowy owl ruffled her feathers.

"Come on, I've got to show you our library," said Hermione. They entered the Grangers' house, and Marly followed Hermione's example, taking her shoes off just inside. Hermione led her through the house, pointing out things of interest. The pale yellow kitchen had an iron woodstove tucked in one corner, which looked like it hadn't been touched in years; to one side was a small round table, with four matching chairs. The next room had apparently been a sitting-room once; now it was a library, all four walls covered in bookshelves, with books stacked on several desks. There was a bathroom, separate from the loo, and then there was a small bedroom with a pair of French doors to the back garden. Through the French doors Marly could see that the back garden wasn't nearly as tame as the front; there were several climbing-trees, overgrown rose-bushes, and a bird-bath that had been choked by a climbing ivy, the same one that had nearly covered the back wall of the house.

Upstairs there was a full bathroom between two bedrooms about the size of Dudley's; both were nice, but one was clearly Hermione's, with her wand and textbooks on her desk and more books strewn everywhere, and glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to her ceiling in the shapes of familiar constellations. The other was painted pale blue and the bedspread was fluffy and covered in stars—Marly, reminded of the room in the Leaky Cauldron, decided immediately that she wanted to stay there. Across the hall was the master bedroom, which Marly didn't enter, wanting to respect the Grangers' privacy.

"Didn't you say there were _three_ guest bedrooms?" Marly asked, having already dropped her backpack in the blue room. She pulled Hedwig's stand out of it as she spoke and set it up next to the window.

"Oh, yes," said Hermione. "It's in the attic—well, it's not really _used_ as a guest bedroom, but it can be. Mum uses it as a studio. She paints in her spare time," she added as an aside.

"I'd like to see that," said Marly interestedly.

Hermione led her to the end of the hall, where she saw a trapdoor in the ceiling. There was a long cord attached to the middle of the trapdoor, and when pulled, it swung free, a ladder soundlessly landing on the thick pale carpet.

"My mum has her own style, sort of, but I think she's somewhat like a mix of Dali and Picasso, and maybe with some van Dyck added in, too," said Hermione, climbing up the ladder. "Of course, we don't have any original pieces by those artists, we only have ones done by Mum herself, and one by my great-great-grandfather Peter Lanyon."

Marly had only recognized one of the names Hermione spouted off: "I've heard of Picasso…" She'd had to do a project on him in her final year of primary school.

"You haven't heard of Dali and van Dyck? Salvador Dali wasn't British, and—oh, I suppose Anthony van Dyck technically wasn't either, he was Flemish, you see—he lived in England, though," said Hermione. "It's not a surprise you haven't heard of Peter Lanyon, though, he wasn't a very well-known painter, after all…"

The refurbished attic-turned-guestroom-turned-art studio had a large window that looked out over the neighborhood, although Marly could tell that it was used more often to look at the sky; Hermione's telescope, as well as a high-powered Muggle one, shared a space in the corner. The flowers on the windowsill didn't look like any Aunt Petunia had ever had Marly take care of; on closer inspection, she could see a few blue-purple flowers in with the white ones.

"What kind of flowers are those?"

"Oh, those are fairy fan-flowers," said Hermione. "We went to New Zealand two years ago for summer holiday and saw some, Mum loved them, so we brought some back."

"They're brilliant, much better than the garden-mums Aunt Petunia has." Marly picked up a flower head that had fallen off its stem and fingered the soft petals. There were five, shaped like a fan. She dropped it back in the window-box and looked around at the various canvas-covered easels. Half of them had finished paintings, two were completely blank, and the rest were all half-finished. On one wall hung a large painting of Hermione's mum and dad, looking years younger, on a balcony overlooking the sea with a full moon just over the water. A little girl with clouds of dark hair peeked out from between the Grangers' legs. There was an abundance of fairy fan-flowers on the balcony, in white, yellow, and blue-purple.

"Your mum's an excellent artist," said Marly, looking at the signature on the hanging painting—Jean Granger, 89, New Zealand.

"She is," agreed Hermione. "I've told her she must put on an art show and get some collectors interested in her paintings, but she wants it to stay just a hobby, she doesn't want to earn money for it."

Marly thought she could understand that.

"Girls!" Jean Granger called from downstairs. "Come down for some hot cocoa!"

Marly hadn't had hot cocoa before. Well, she had, but only once, at Hogwarts. She wondered if Muggle hot cocoa was as delicious as magical hot cocoa.

It was.

Marly and the Grangers played a card game called Push while they drank their hot cocoa. It was a fairly simple game, and they had a lot of fun. When they finished, Jean told Marly their rules for the summer—the curfew was 9:00, they couldn't go out without telling her or Henry where they were going, they shouldn't make noise after going to bed for the night, and they had to dress respectably. "No ripped-up jeans, or anything like that. You're not hooligans." And, most importantly, they couldn't mess up anything Jean had in her studio.

Marly nodded and agreed to all the rules—they were reasonable. At the Dursleys, she wasn't really allowed to go out at all, unless Aunt Petunia sent her away for some reason.

"Let's finish our homework first, and then we can go out to the library or the pool in the afternoons," said Hermione.

"Sounds good," said Marly. She crossed to her bedroom, slipped inside, closed the door, and turned to collapse on her bed.

The trouble was, there was already someone sitting on it.


	4. Dobby's Warning

**Dobby's Warning  
**

Marly managed not to shout out, but it was a close thing. The little creature on the bed had large, bat-like ears and bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls. Marly knew instantly that this was what had been watching her out of the garden hedge that morning.

As they stared at each other, Marly heard Hermione finish up in the loo and turn off the tap.

The creature slipped off the bed and bowed so low that the end of its long, thin nose touched the carpet. Marly noticed that it was wearing what looked like an old pillowcase, with rips for arm- and leg-holes.

"Er—hello," said Marly nervously.

"Marlene Potter!" said the creature in a high-pitched voice Marly was sure would carry down the hall. "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, miss…Such an honour, it is…"

"Th-thank you," said Marly, edging along the wall and sinking onto her bed, next to Hedwig, who was asleep on her stand. She wanted to ask, "What are you?" but thought it would sound too rude, so instead she said, "Who are you?"

"Dobby, miss. Dobby the house-elf," said the creature.

"Oh—really?" said Marly. "Er—I don't want to be rude or anything, but—this isn't a great time for me to have a house-elf in my bedroom."

The door to the loo banged shut. The elf hung his head.

"Not that I'm not pleased to meet you," said Marly quickly, "but, er, is there any particular reason you're here, at this time of night?"

"Oh, yes, miss," said Dobby earnestly. "Dobby has come to tell you, miss…it is difficult, miss…Dobby wonders where to begin…"

"Sit down," said Marly politely, pointing at the bed next to her.

To her horror, the elf burst into tears—very noisy tears.

"_S-sit down_!" he wailed. "_Never…never ever…_"

Marly thought she heard Hermione's door open.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I didn't mean to offend you or anything—"

"Offend Dobby!" choked the elf. "Dobby has _never_ been asked to sit down by a witch—like an _equal_—"

Marly, trying to say "Shhh!" and look comforting at the same time, ushered Dobby back onto the bed where he sat hiccoughing, looking like a large and very ugly doll. At last he managed to control himself, and sat with his great eyes fixed on Marly in an expression of watery adoration.

"You can't have met many decent witches," said Marly, trying to cheer him up.

Dobby shook his head. Then, without warning, he leapt up and started banging his head furiously on the window, shouting, _"Bad _Dobby! _Bad_ Dobby!"

"Don't—what are you doing?" Marly hissed, springing up and pulling Dobby back onto the bed—Hedwig had woken up with a particularly loud screech and was beating her wings wildly.

"Dobby had to punish himself, miss," said the elf, who had gone slightly cross-eyed. "Dobby almost spoke ill of his family, miss…"

"Your family?"

"The wizard family Dobby serves, miss…Dobby is a house-elf—bound to serve one house and one family forever…"

"What, like a slave?" said Marly, frowning. "Do they know you're here?"

Dobby shuddered.

"Oh, no, miss, no…Dobby will have to punish himself most grievously for coming to see you, miss. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the oven door for this. If they even knew, sir—"

"But won't they notice if you shut your ears in the oven door?"

"Dobby doubts it, miss. Dobby is always having to punish himself for something, miss. They lets Dobby get on with it, miss. Sometimes they reminds me to do extra punishments…"

"But why don't you leave? Escape?"

"A house-elf must be set free, miss. And the family will never set Dobby free…Dobby will serve the family until he dies, miss…"

Marly stared.

"And I thought I had it bad staying at the Dursleys' most of the summer," she said. "This makes them sound almost human. Can't anyone help you? Can't I?"

Almost at once, Marly wished she hadn't spoken. Dobby dissolved again into wails of gratitude.

"Please," Marly whispered frantically, "please be quiet. If the Dursleys hear anything, if they know you're here—"

"Marlene Potter asks if she can help Dobby…Dobby has heard of your greatness, miss, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew…"

Marly, who was feeling distinctly hot in the face, said, "Whatever you've heard about my greatness is a load of rubbish. I'm not even top of my year at Hogwarts; that's Hermione, she—"

There was a knock on the door. "Marly? All right in there?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," she said quickly. She opened the door a crack and smiled at Hermione. "Just…just…"

"Marlene Potter is humble and modest," said Dobby behind her with reverence. "Marlene Potter speaks not of her triumph over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—"

"Who's that?" said Hermione. Sighing, Marly opened the door wide enough for Hermione to see the elf.

"Says his name is Dobby," said Marly. "He's come to tell me something."

Hermione came inside and Marly shut the door behind her.

"D'you mean Voldemort?" said Marly, to Dobby.

Dobby clapped his hands over his bat ears and moaned, "Ah, speak not the name, miss! Speak not the name!"

"Sorry," said Marly quickly. "I know lots of people don't like it. My friends Ron, Neville, and Draco…"

Dobby leaned toward Marly, his eyes wide as headlights.

"Dobby heard tell," he said hoarsely, "that Marlene Potter met the Dark Lord for a second time, just weeks ago…that Marlene Potter escaped _yet again_."

Marly nodded and Dobby's eyes suddenly shone with tears.

"Only with the help of Hermione, here, and Ron, and Neville," said Marly.

"Oh, tish," said Hermione. She elbowed Marly. "You did the most important bit."

"No—you're the one who got the Stone away," Marly pointed out.

"Ah, misses," Dobby gasped, dabbing his face with a corner of the grubby pillowcase he was wearing. "Marlene Potter is valiant and bold! She has braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has come to protect Marlene Potter, to warn her, even if he _does _have to shut his ears in the oven door later…_Marlene Potter must not go back to Hogwarts_."

There was a silence broken only by the sound of a car going by on the street below.

"W-what?" Marly stammered. "But I've got to go back—term starts on September first. I don't _belong _here. I belong in your world—at Hogwarts."

"No, no, no," squeaked Dobby, shaking his head so hard his ears flapped. "Marlene Potter must stay where she is safe. Hermione Grangey must, as well. Marlene Potter is too great, too good, to lose. If Marlene Potter and Hermione Grangey go back to Hogwarts, they will be in mortal danger."

"Why?" said Hermione in surprise. "What sort of danger? What can you tell us about it?"

"There is a plot, Hermione Grangey. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year," whispered Dobby, suddenly trembling all over. "Dobby has known it for months, miss. Marlene Potter must not put herself in peril. She is too important, miss!"

"What terrible things?" said Marly at once. "Who's plotting them?"

Dobby made a funny choking noise and then banged his head frantically against the wall.

"No, stop!" Hermione shrieked. She rushed forward to grab his arm, pulling him away from the wall. "Why would you do that to yourself?"

Marly explained what Dobby had told her earlier—he was bound to serve a wizarding family, and had to punish himself if he did something against his family. Hermione expressed outrage over his slavery, then focused on the biggest problem—the trouble Dobby expected to come to Hogwarts.

"It must be his family plotting it, then," said Hermione. "Who do you serve, Dobby? Did your master tell you specifically that you couldn't tell _me_, Hermione Granger, about this plot?"

Dobby's ears quivered. "No…" He made the choking noise again, but Marly and Hermione managed to restrain him from banging his head again.

"All right!" cried Marly. "You can't tell us. I understand. But why are you warning _me_?" A sudden, unpleasant thought struck her. "Hang on—this hasn't got anything to do with Vol—sorry—with You-Know-Who, has it? You could just shake or nod," she added hastily.

Slowly, Dobby shook his head.

"Not—not _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_, sir—"

But Dobby's eyes were wide and he seemed to be trying to give Marly a hint. Marly, however, was completely lost.

"He hasn't got a brother, has he?"

Dobby shook his head, his eyes wider than ever.

"He's always been afraid of Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione, "he's never attacked the school itself. You know who Dumbledore is, don't you?"

Dobby bowed his head.

"Albus Dumbledore is the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. Dobby knows it, miss. Dobby has heard Dumbledore's powers rival those of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the height of his strength. But, miss" —Dobby's voice dropped to an urgent whisper—"there are powers Dumbledore doesn't…powers no decent wizard…"

And before Marly or Hermione could stop him, Dobby bounded off the bed, seized the side-table lamp, and started beating himself around the head with earsplitting yelps.

A door opened down the hall. Two seconds later Marly, heart thudding madly, heard Jean Granger coming into the hall, calling, "Hermione? Marly? You all right?"

"Quick! In the closet!" hissed Hermione, stuffing Dobby in, shutting the door, and flinging herself on the bed next to Marly just as the door handle turned.

"What are you girls _doing_?" said Jean with raised eyebrows. "You know the rules, Hermione, Marly—no loud noises after bedtime. I thought I made that clear to both of you."

"Yes, sorry, it won't happen again," said Marly quickly.

"Go to bed, girls," said Jean, then left the room, shutting the door behind her.

Shaking, Marly let Dobby out of the closet.

"It's not so bad here," she said, "but I can't stay here forever—and besides, I've got to go back to Hogwarts. It's the only place I've got friends. Hermione's only one of them."

"Friends who don't even _write_ to Marlene Potter?" said Dobby slyly.

"_Hermione_ wrote to me," said Marly, frowning. "I didn't get any of her letters. The others must have done, too. How do _you _know they haven't been writing to me?"

Dobby shuffled his feet.

"Marlene Potter mustn't be angry with Dobby. Dobby did it for the best—"

"_Have you been stopping my letters_?"

"Dobby has them here, miss," said the elf. Stepping nimbly out of Marly's reach, he pulled a thick wad of envelopes from the inside of the pillowcase he was wearing. Marly could make out Hermione's neat writing, Ron's untidy scrawl, Neville's clumsy letters, and even a scribble that looked as though it was from the Hogwarts gamekeeper, Hagrid.

Dobby blinked anxiously up at Marly.

"Marlene Potter mustn't be angry…Dobby hoped…if Marlene Potter thought her friends had forgotten her…Marlene Potter might not want to go back to school, miss…" Dobby frowned suddenly at Hermione. "But Hermione Grangey came and got Marlene Potter…"

Marly wasn't listening. She made a grab for the letters, but Dobby jumped out of reach.

"Marlene Potter will have them, miss, if she gives Dobby her word that she will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, miss, this is a danger you must not face! Say you won't go back, miss!"

"No," said Marly angrily. "Give me my friends' letters!"

Before Marly could move, Dobby had darted to the bedroom door, pulled it open, and sprinted down the hall to the attic.

Mouth dry, stomach lurching, Marly sprang after him, trying not to make a sound. Hermione hurried after her. The attic stairs had dropped—Marly ran up them into the art studio and felt her stomach disappear.

Jean Granger's multitude of paints, in every colour imaginable, were open and floating up near the ceiling. On top of a cupboard in the corner crouched Dobby.

"No," croaked Marly. "Please…they'll throw me out…"

"Marlene Potter must say she's not going back to school—"

"Dobby…please…"

"Say it, miss—"

"Wait—Dobby—" Hermione whispered, pushing past Marly. "If we say we're not going back, will you put down the paints nicely? Will you leave us alone?"

Dobby brightened and nodded frantically, his ears flapping up and down. "Yes, miss!"

"Fine," she said. "We won't go back to Hogwarts."

Dobby looked at her slyly. "Do you _promise_, Hermione Grangey?"

"Yes, I promise," Hermione said impatiently. "Now, will you _please_ put down the paints?"

"Very well," said Dobby. The paints all closed and lowered to an inch above the floor before they all dropped. Luckily, none of them broke. With a crack like a whip, Dobby vanished.

Marly glared at Hermione. "What did you say _that_ for! We _have_ to go back to Hogwarts!"

"I _know _that," said Hermione impatiently. "Of course we will. Dobby didn't have to know that, though."

Marly frowned but shrugged. "I suppose so."

They tiptoed out of the attic, pushed up the stairs, and went back to their rooms. A few minutes later, however, there was a tapping sound from Hermione's room, and she burst into Marly's room with a letter clutched in one hand.

"Oh, Marly, it's horrible!" she moaned. "I've gotten in trouble with the _Ministry of Magic_!"

"Let me see," Marly demanded. Hermione let her have it.

_Dear Ms. Granger,_

_We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at thirty-two minutes past nine._

_As you know, underage witches are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C)._

_We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy._

_Enjoy your holidays!_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Mafalda Hopkirk_

_IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE_

_Ministry of Magic_

Marly looked up from the letter and gulped. "But—_you_ weren't the one to use magic," she said. "Let's send a letter with Hedwig, try to explain..."

"What, that a house-elf appeared in a Muggle house and made a bunch of paints float to try to blackmail us into staying away from Hogwarts?" said Hermione, her voice high with an edge of hysteria to it. "Sure, they'll believe _that_!"

"Well, if I say it happened," said Marly, "they may believe _me_. I mean…I am famous, that has got to be good for _something_…"

"I suppose we can try," said Hermione miserably.

After sending a letter that took them a good half-hour to compose to Hermione's rigid sensibilities, they sent it off with Hedwig to the Ministry of Magic, and Hermione went back to her own room. Exhausted, Marly fell into an uneasy sleep, wondering why she hadn't seen any letters from Draco.

She dreamed that she was on show in a zoo, with a card reading UNDERAGE WITCH attached to her cage. People goggled through the bars at her as she lay, starving and weak, on a bed of straw. She saw Dobby's face in the crowd and shouted out, asking for help, but Dobby called, "Marlene Potter is safe there, miss!" and vanished. Then the Dursleys appeared and Dudley rattled the bars of the cage, laughing at her.

"Stop it," Marly muttered as the rattling pounded in her sore head. "Leave me alone…cut it out…I'm trying to sleep…"

She opened her eyes. Morning light was shining through her window, and the welcome smell of eggs, bacon, and hash browns filled the air.


End file.
